Saturday, December 04, 2004

Pimp My Sinus Infection

Now that the hardcore throes of my own private sinus infection hell have abated, I am enjoying what I believe to be the colossally underrated afterglow of nose and throat ailments – chasing the hardened remnant boogers around the inside of my nose with my fingers, keys, pen, nail clippers and car radio antenna.

I was reminded this afternoon just how fun this stage of sickness can be. I was driving to the mall on a busy street near Evans World Headquarters, just kind of lost on a safari into my right nostril. I don’t know how long I was hunting or how many fingers I had used, but I looked to my right and saw a bright yellow Xterra full of teenaged girls looking at me, laughing, pantomiming the action of picking their noses. One girl also crossed her eyes. Another wiped an imaginary booger on the window in front of her. Then the light turned green and they drove off, probably thinking I’m some sicko. What, like they never pick their noses when they’re alone in the car? Right. And I’m the prime minister of the United Arab Emirates.

I happen to be very good at picking my nose. But today I seemed to be having a little trouble with the crusty little bastard in my right nostril. Every time I thought I had it, it squirted out of my grasp and up into the little cavity where fingers don’t dare tread – the area that separates your brains from your nose. Whenever the little guy retreated back to that cavity, I’d pinch closed the opposite nostril and blow a little air through my nose. That did the trick every time.

Finally, as I pulled into the mall parking lot, I extracted the offending mucous. I hurt a little, but that’s because I pulled a few nose hairs out in my fervent attempts to trap the booger. Lo and behold, as I exited the Honda CR-V I noticed that the yellow Xterra that ferried the teenaged girls who were laughing at me was parked just three spots down the same aisle. I knew it was the same car because there was a streaked fingerprint on the left rear window where that one smarmy bitch wiped her imaginary snot.

I got out of my car with my freshly yanked booger still attached to my index finger. Then I walked over and wiped that bad boy right on the front windshield of the Xterra.

As I walked away from the crime scene, I thought to myself, “Ha! Take that, bitches! You got served!”

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Other Humans Write

Here are actual questions you asked the presidential candidates when they appeared on your show. To Bush: 'Were y'all spankers?" To Kerry: "Did you ever spank the girls?" To Bush: "Did you spank them?" To Kerry: "What did she do to get spanked?" Hey, Dr. Phil, keep it in your pleated pants. [GQ Magazine, Dec. 2004, pg. 372]